


Verse 5:32 | Sanhedrin 4:5

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Jewish Character, Muslim characters, Pharmercy Week 2018, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: After a visit to the Shambali temple, Fareeha reflects on her mother's faith, Angela's faith, and her own.





	Verse 5:32 | Sanhedrin 4:5

**Author's Note:**

> Some of this is referring to Pharah's comic, [Mission Statement](https://comic.playoverwatch.com/en-us/pharah-mission-statement)– not necessary for understanding this, but it does give some context.

It had been a miracle they were able to visit at all. Both Fareeha and Angela's schedules were unspeakably busy, and Genji and Zenyatta were constantly traveling. But finally, they were settled in Nepal and Fareeha and Angela both had time off. And so they came to visit.    
  
It was winter, snowy and frigid. They were coming from Iraq and while Fareeha loved the desert, this reminded her of winter breaks in Canada, fishing with her grandparents and playing hockey with her cousins. The village was quiet but alive. A quadrupedal omnic led a cow away from the troths, a cyborg nailed boards on a hole in a roof. Genji and Zenyatta waved at them from a raised walkway.    
  
Angela squeezed her hand. "It's nice," she said softly.    
  
"Yes," Fareeha agreed. "It is."    
  
Genji had grown up with personal chefs and Zenyatta was an Omnic, and so Fareeha could not blame them for being poor chefs. Nor did she really mind. The tea was good and their home was warm in a way only truly achievable when the outside was fiercely cold. Fareeha adjusted her position on her cushion and leaned against Angela and laughed as Genji recounted some old story about McCree.    
  
When it got late, though, Genji stood and Zenyatta rose. "We're going to pray in the temple," Zenyatta told them. "Would you like to come with us?"   
  
Fareeha said nothing but Angela said, "Yes," and they went.    
  
The temple was awesome, towering in the mountains, preceded by an avenue of levitating statues. She and Angela stayed in the foyer, at an altar covered in candles, while Genji and Zenyatta entered the inner sanctum. Fareeha peered after them and could barely make out columns of glowing Omnic text, and a golden light. When she looked back, Angela had her eyes closed.    
  
Fareeha swallowed and knelt, then leaned forward in the prayer position. She remembered some of this, she thought. Though shouldn't she have washed herself before this? There was a rug here, but did it count as a prayer rug? Which way was she even facing? She righted herself, glanced at Angela, and then jogged to the archway and stuck her head out. She couldn't see the moon, but she was pretty sure this was facing west–   
  
"Fareeha." Fareeha started and turned around. Angela was watching her and smiling. "I'm ready now. Thanks for waiting."   
  
"Yeah," Fareeha said. "Of course."   
  
-   
  
Genji apologized for only being able to provide a small, thin mattress, and both of them dismissed him. They were used to spartan accommodations, and they were used to sleeping wrapped around each other tightly, blankets making an impenetrable cocoon.    
  
Still, Fareeha managed to extricate herself without waking Angela, and slid the door shut behind her as she stepped onto the balcony.    
  
She had not realized how long it had been since she had prayed.    
  
("Every day, I suppose," Angela told her. "In some form or another.")   
  
Her mother was never particularly observant. She drank. She kept halal purely through accident, claiming that pigs were too intelligent to be ethically consumed and gelatin and shellfish and the like were simply disgusting. She went unveiled and never seemed concerned with modesty, wearing low-cut tops and short pants with abandon. The demands of her job meant she never fasted during Ramadan or took the time to do the daily prayers.    
  
("There are a lot of scientists who love to shit on religion," Angela told her. "I don't care. I wouldn't be as good at what I do if I weren't a Jew. And I do it better than them.")   
  
Ana told Fareeha that she was a Muslim and Fareeha's teachers and classmates informed her that she, too, must be one, and so Fareeha was a Muslim. But she did not feel like a good one. Her mother's lax faith seemed to her a choice, being made when one grew up surrounded by Islam and consciously choose to step back. Fareeha's casual observance felt shamefully passive.    
  
("My parents were conservative," Angela told her. "And when they died, the synagogue took me in for a while. So I don't know. Even when I went to homes that weren't Jewish, I never felt like anything else.")   
  
She didn't know if she was missing something. She knew there were many ways to be a Muslim, ways that were spiritually fulfilling that included drinking and wearing shorts and tank tops and forgetting how to pray. She knew that wherever she went in the world, the Muslim population would tell her her mother was a hero. She knew she loved what she did, was proud of what she did.    
  
She knew her mother killed, that she killed. She knew that was like killing all the world.    
  
("That's from the Quran, isn't it?" Angela asked.    
  
"Yes," Fareeha told her. “It is.”   
  
"It's in the Talmud too," Angela said. "I always thought that was interesting. But he must be right. It must have been a regional aphorism, before it ended up in our books.")   
  
She knew if Khalil had not told her, "He who saves one life, it is he had saved the world," before he died, that she would have let Mahmud die. She knew she loved Egypt, and that the sound of a muezzin made wherever she was feel like home. She knew her best memories of winter breaks were the times during those fishing trips when her grandparents told her what being Tlingit meant to them. She knew she loved the breadth of knowledge and experience she had gained from growing up in dozens of cultures and countries.    
  
("It's usually not like, a read a blessing or light a candle prayer," Angela told her. "It's like... sometimes I just need to talk to God. And so I do.")   
  
She did not know how to pray.    
  
"Fareeha." Fareeha turned around and there was Angela, closing the screen door behind her. "Are you okay?"   
  
"Yeah." Fareeha let out a breath and watched it cloud in the cold air. "I just couldn't sleep."    
  
Angela walked up to her and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I missed my space heater."   
  
Fareeha laughed. "Sorry." Angela propped her chin up on her shoulder and looked at her.    
  
"Are you okay?"   
  
"Yeah, of course."   
  
"You kind of... hurried out of the temple. Did something about it bother you?"   
  
"No," Fareeha said quickly. Angela continued to watch her. "No. I just... haven't been around this much religion in a while, I suppose."   
  
"You go to synagogue with me for the high holidays," Angela pointed out.    
  
"Yeah."    
  
"And the last time we visited Mei, she took us on a tour of a temple, and you burned incense there."   
  
"Yeah,” Fareeha said. “I guess I just haven't prayed in a while, then."   
  
"Oh," Angela said. Fareeha winced.    
  
"You know what's going on."   
  
"No, not really!"   
  
"Come on. Just get me there."   
  
"Well," Angela said, in her careful doctor's tone. "When was the last time that you prayed?"   
  
("Because there's no body, the service will have to be altered," the imam told her. "But we will do it. Of course we will. Your mother was a hero to us all.")   
  
"Oh," Fareeha said.    
  
"Seriously, Fareeha, I'm not you, I don't know if that's it, but–"   
  
"No," Fareeha said. "You're right." Angela nodded and took her hand. Fareeha leaned against her shoulder. Angela was wearing flannel pajamas that could not have helped her much against the night breeze but she did not move. Fareeha hoped she was warming her up. Angela’s hand was intertwined in hers and her fingers were frigid, but in that moment there was not a force in heaven or earth that could have taken Fareeha from her side.   
  
"When we get home, I'd like to go to mosque again," Fareeha told her. "Can you come with me?"   
  
"Yeah," Angela said. "Of course." Fareeha kissed her neck and the two of them looked out over the village to the temple, candles in every one of its windows, glowing golden in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @tacticalgrandma on tumblr/twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments/kudos would mean the world to me <3


End file.
